Nothing but Bluebirds
by Bonzai-Bunny
Summary: Lithuania has the highest suicide rate in the world, and sometimes it effects him. AmericaxLithuania if you squint.


Warning: contemplations of suicide

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia

Authoress Note: Kink meme fill. Asked for Lithuania to contemplate suicide via tall building, but someone stopping him and comforting him afterwards. OP filling her own request, so woo.

- - - o0o - - -

Lithuania closes his eyes and feels the breeze through his hair. So high up, the sun shining from above and he can imagine it, falling. He can imagine the feel of the wind rushing to his face, the brief feeling of soaring like he's never soared before and then nothing.

Blank. Dark. Nothing.

And Lithuania takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with warm air, and the sun feels so good on his arms. He spreads them, imagining he's flying and smiles, entertaining the thought once again.

Twenty-four stories up. Chance of survival slim. Blank, dark, nothing.

He steps up on the wall ledge and looks down. He sees the drop, the people below, and he suddenly sees his body lying crooked on the sidewalk, his head busted open, the screams of pedestrians. It's enough for him to take a shaky breath and bring his arms back down to his sides.

No, he can't but—

Blank. Dark. Nothing .

—if he succeeded, who would help his brothers?

No more pain. No more anything

—How would they feel? How would Poland feel?

No more dealing everyone's problems. No constant terror

—He _can't_.

But it's right there. So close

—But he _can't_.

Just one step and it'll be all over.

But—

"Lithuania!"

Lithuania's head whips around and he sees America approaching, running. His heart pounds, partially from being caught but—he never expected anybody would be here and he feels trapped, oh god, he feels trapped.

The other seems to see that and stops a few meters short.

"Lithuania," America begins at length, "what are you doing?"

Lithuania swallows nervously and looks back out over the skyline of the city. "Nothing," he replies, his heart still pounding and his eyes scan the street. O_ne step. One step. Blank. Dark. Nothing. _

"Are you sure? Because that looks like a whole lot of something. It looks a whole lot like you're about to jump."

The accusation rips a sudden emotion through him and Lithuania is shocked to find that there are tears streaming down his face.

"Please go away, Mr. America. You wouldn't understand." The street seems closer, the threat of death more palpable and Lithuania stares at the spot he's sure his body will fall.

"Lithuania, I don't know why you're doing this, but I can tell you it isn't worth it."

"Yes it is! Mr. America, I need to do this, _please_ go away!" He steps closer to the edge, the simple tears have turned into sobs and he clenches his fist tightly, digging his nails into his palm.

"Whoa!" America holds up his hands, stepping closer, cautiously. "Seriously, Lithuania, let's talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about, just please leave." Lithuania shuts his eyes, wishing he could get back the feeling of the sun and the wind in his hair because all he feels now is terribly cold.

"I can't do that Lithuania. You're my friend and friends don't let other friends do stuff like this," he takes a step forward. "Lithuania, look at me. Open your eyes and look at me."

Lithuania does so and immediately regrets it. He sees the concern in those baby blue eyes—blue like the wide sky above—and it makes his stomach ache with regret.

"Go away," he responds weakly.

"No can do," America tries to smile. "Now, come on, think about this. Think about your brothers, think about your friends and everything else you'd be leaving behind."

"I've thought about all of that, Mr. America, and it doesn't make a difference." He shakes his head and looks out ahead of him. He can do this, he can do this. One step, one step.

Blank. Dark. Nothing.

"I'm sorry, but heroes can't let that happen."

Lithuania hears the click of something and he looks behind him to see America put a gun to his head. His blank face startles the other and it makes Lithuania's heart roar in his ears with fright.

"If you jump, then I shoot."

Lithuania looks ahead, because the thought terrifies him so much and he can't believe that America would do that.

"Y-you're lying," he accuses, looking back, "you would never do that."

"Would I?" He puts the gun underneath his chin and it gives Lithuania a start.

"Stop!"

"Then get down from there."

"I…I…" He stammers and looks back out ahead.

Before Lithuania realizes it, there's a force around his middle and he finds himself falling backwards onto the roof, in America's arms. The landing knocks them both to the ground and it takes Lithuania a minute to realize what just happened. It turns out America had been slowly advancing him the whole time.

"Oh thank god," America breathes a sigh of relief into his hair and holds on tighter. "Don't you ever do that again."

-o0o-

A couple of minutes later and America is buying both of them ice cream in a nearby park. Lithuania is mostly silent, thankful that the other hasn't brought it up yet. He accepts the ice cream with a small smile and they sit on a bench, away from most people. They're both missing the world meeting going on at the other end of the city and Lithuania knows that the other couldn't care.

Surprisingly, it's America's complete and utter avoidance of the subject that makes Lithuania cave.

"I'm sorry," he blurts in the middle of America's rant about baseball.

"Sorry 'bout what?" America nonchalantly licks the side of his cone and Lithuania stares for a moment, wondering if the other really had that short of an attention span.

"I'm—I'm sorry about what happened back there. I'm sorry to have put you through that."

America gives him an odd look. "Are you sorry that I stopped you?"

That surprises Lithuania. He pauses and thinks about it, truly thinks about it, and finds he doesn't feel as cornered as before. Depressed, sure, but not desperate.

"No, I'm not."

America smiles. "That's all that matters, then."

His hand rests on Lithuania's thigh, which makes the other blush, but he doesn't mind it so much. America is warm, so much warmer than the coldness he felt on the roof.

"Look, if you wanna talk about it, we can, but if you don't want to, I'm not going to force you."

"I—" Lithuania pauses. What does he say to that? He's buried so much hurt deep down over the years, even if he wants to get it all out (which he doesn't, he would just worry the other more), he doesn't know what to say. He can't even explain his actions—he felt like he was possessed, suffering from one of Russia's special brands of crazy.

"It's alright," America assures him.

Lithuania stares at his lap, feeling tiny. "I don't know why—I just—I'm sorry," he apologizes again.

"Don't apologize to me," America takes a bite out of his cone, mostly depleted of ice cream. "You owe yourself an apology more than anything."

Lithuania blinks. "What?"

"Thinking that no one would miss you or it wouldn't matter," he crosses his arms, feigning disappointment, "pretty self-centered if you ask me."

Lithuania blushes again. "I'm—"

America presses a finger to his lips with a lop-sided smile. "You're sorry, I get it. But no more apologizing, okay?"

Lithuania nods and stares back down at his lap.

"You know what?" America begins, causing the other to look up. "I've got an awesome new beach house in California and no one but Tony to spend it with this summer," he nudges the other playfully, "I could use an awesome new roommate."

"Mr. America…I can't."

"Sure you can! It'll be just like old times!"

Lithuania smiles slightly. "Mr. America, the last time I was there, the Great Depression happened. I'm sure that neither of us wants it to be like old times."

America scoffs. "Details, details. So what do you say? Is it a plan? Also, are you going to eat that?"

Lithuania looks down at his cup of ice cream and shakes his head, handing it to the other.

"I don't know; I can't just leave my home now."

"Think about it! Please? It's always nice to get your mind off of stuff."

Lithuania nods, "I will, Mr. America, thank you."

"And you can always call me if you need anything or if just want to talk or whatever."

"I know." And he does; America is different like that.

"Think about it."

He knows what the other is doing and he appreciates it. He knows that all of those things that hurt him won't go away overnight, but if the pressure becomes too much, if he feels too cornered, there is always someone he can talk to, always a place he can go. It isn't a promise of a bright future, but it's something, and he smiles at the other before looking at the sky. Its wide expansion of blue reminds Lithuania of America's eyes and he can't help but to think that it looks much more beautiful from the ground.

- - - o0o - - -

Authoress Note: So um, yeah. Interesting note: The title of this is from the song, "Blue Skies." I chose it, because I remember this video I saw in U.S. History class about the Great Depression and it spoke of all the livelihood of the 20s, using the song as an example, but then it started to talk about the horrors of the Depression and people flinging themselves out of windows on Black Tuesday and how many other people committed suicide afterwards with the song _still_ playing in the background. It was disturbing, but the song is supposed to be about a guy being depressed, but looking ahead and being cheered by the beautiful blue skies.


End file.
